


A Simple Wrinkle is not so Simple when Dealing with Time

by darkotter



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Learning to trust, M/M, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:31:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkotter/pseuds/darkotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old enemy becomes an ally as an alien race attacks the Earth, claiming the planet as their own. Tony must accept the helping hand of the God of Mischief if he wants to set everything right...because this Hell that the city of New York - no, the world - has fallen into is not the reality the genius wants to live in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: The End of Everything

**Author's Note:**

> My first contribution to the Avengers fanfic fandom. I'm not going to lie, I'm a tad bit nervous, so please treat me kindly. I don't remember when I got this idea, as I've been poking and prodding and sitting on this fic for about two months now. Finally I was pushed to actually post it, but I couldn't have gotten to this point without my lovely and amazing beta, Modernangliophilia, or the support of my friend and role-model, Kytt. Thank you both for being awesome!
> 
> The rating may change...I'm setting it at Mature for right now, but depending on which direction I take this, it may slide up to NC-17.

From his vantage point, Tony could see flames. The whole horizon was on fire, and there was _nothing_ he could do about it. The whole city was in ruins. Maybe the whole country. Maybe the whole world. But since he couldn't see anything but the stretched expanse of what used to be New York City, he found that he couldn't really care if the rest of the world was burning as well.

The attack had caught them all by surprise. It was nothing like the portal opening and the Chitauri flooding into the city. They had at least been expecting the attack. They had known what Loki wanted to do. Sure, they didn't know the extent of the army the Chitauri had, and those flying alien whales had been more than they had been expecting, but they had known an attack would happen.

But this...

It had come without warning and without mercy. One moment, Tony had been busying himself with improving one of his favorite cars, and the next, a jagged scar was ripped into the sky; into the universe. It had felt like an earthquake, the way everything shook as the first attack hit the city.

And then, they came. Stronger and faster and larger than the Chitauri. Uglier and more vicious. Tony didn't know exactly how that was even possible, but it was. It hadn't been long before he had gotten into his suit, trying to find the others, and ran straight into one of the aliens.

Aliens. Monsters. Nightmares. He didn't know what to call them. The first thought to cross Tony's mind was _You have such a horrible underbite_. Shouldn't he have thought something else? But the jaws on the thing reminded him of an eel or an angler fish, complete with very long and very sharp teeth. And if that wasn't enough, the thing had leered at him.

The others were there, Jarvis told him. Thor wasn't. They didn't know why, and they really wished he was, because they needed all the help they could get. But Thor didn't show up.

These things were smart. Smarter than the Chitauri. More advanced. And Tony felt very weak, especially since it didn't seem to take anything at all for the beast to grab him with one clawed hand and throw him into the nearest building.

They had been incredibly outnumbered and outmatched. And even though the Avengers were strong, they were tired. They were tired fast, and, unlike the Chitauri attack, had no idea how to stop it. There was no portal to stop, no main control ship to destroy—or so they thought.

Tony wheezed, choking on the acrid smoke that was seeping through the cracked mask still covering his face. He didn't know if he would take it all the way off if he could. He couldn't, but hypothetically speaking. The smoke was practically thick enough to cut, and obviously not good to inhale.

He gagged again on the small wisps making it's way in through his suit and closed his eyes, willing his body to move; his suit to move.

These creatures seemed to have known what sort of people were on the team defending the earth. Right away they focused on Bruce. They didn't try to fight him. They didn't try to kill him. They tried to capture him, which meant they were smart, which meant they had known how strong Bruce was when he was the _other guy._

The same could be said for the Captain. Tony wasn't sure where he had gone. He had seen him getting thrown away from one of the aliens, far, far away, and disappeared into the smoke. He doubted he was dead because of that. Tony knew it took much more to hurt the super soldier. But could they have known about him as well? Was he locked away too?

Tony didn’t even know how badly injured he was, unable to pinpoint where the pain was coming from. So he continued to lie in the ruins of one of the floors of Stark—now _Avengers—_ tower, where he had been thrown and gritted his teeth. He knew he was bleeding, that he was sure of, but he was having trouble trying to command his limbs. Or his suit.

He felt this painful feeling of being trapped and he didn't like it but he was obviously not in any shape to change anything. “Jarvis, report,” he groaned out, eyes closed. When the AI didn't respond he opened his eyes. “Jarvis.”

“Sir,” Jarvis' voice sounded like it always did, but relief flooded through his injured body all the same. So he wasn't completely alone at least. Good. Good. “I seem to be having some difficulties.”

“I would expect so,” Tony said with a weak smile, eyes closing once more. His chest hurt and he vaguely wondered if part of his chest plate had bent. “How bad is it?”

“I can not tell at this time, Sir. I apologize.” The AI's voice sounded regretful. Truly sorry.

Tony let out a ragged cough, tasting copper. “I understand, J. Neither of us are in the greatest of shape, are we?” He coughed again.

“No, we are not,” Jarvis replied.

Tony looked out through his damaged helmet to survey the ruined city. He had not been strong enough, he hadn't known what to do. And he had failed. He choked on the gore flooding his throat and panic flooded him as he couldn't breath.

“Jarvis...” he gasped out once he had expelled some of the liquid clogging his windpipes. “What's that?”

“What is what, sir? I do not know what you are referring to.” Jarvis' voice was patient and calm. It soothed Tony. It lulled him into a daze and all he wanted was to sleep. He was so _tired_. But what _was_ that? Through the smoke and the fire and the pain.

“That,” Tony said, trying to lift his arm to motion towards the shape—no, it was a figure, he could tell that now. “That person.” The pain in his anatomy was slowly disappearing. Before, he hadn't been able to tell how badly he was injured because of the agonizing pain filling his body. But now it didn't feel like anything really hurt. He was going numb and he knew that wasn't a good thing.

“I do not know sir, I apologize. My matrix seems to be damaged rather badly,” Jarvis said.

“I knew you wouldn't be able to stop them.”

_I know that voice._ Tony tried to focus on the figure. It had come so close now, but his vision was fading in and out and he was having trouble making out the person who was now crouching down in the rubble before him.

“Stark, do you hear me?”

“Not really,” Tony groaned out. “Who are you? And why are you so...blurry.” He convulsed in more horrible coughing, trying to rid his mouth and throat of his life's blood that was now trying to drown him.

“Stark, listen to me. You mustn't fall asleep,” the voice was very comforting. Familiar, but he couldn't tell if it was in a good way or a bad way, but it was comforting none the less. Tony wasn't alone and it made him feel _safe_.

“Don't know—” he sucked in a deep, harsh breath, retching on blood. “—if I can. E-everything's getting dark.” He lifted his numb arm and tried to get a hold of the only sort of life-line he had right now. The suit made it even harder to do so, the metal so heavy.

“Please, focus. I need your help. To fix all of this. _Listen to me, Stark_. You _mustn't_ fall asleep.” The voice was urgent and pressing. It was trying to ground him, so he wouldn't drift away. Tony's hand bumped into the thickly clothed leg of his companion and let it fall to the ground with a thud. He closed his fingers around the substantial fabric of the man's jacket pooling around his knees.

Tony tried to respond. He really did, but it all got caught up in his throat and again he couldn't breath. He tried to keep the grip on the jacket. He really did. But with his whole body going numb, he couldn't hold on.

And as he lost consciousness, he heard the sounds of Jarvis and the man yelling in his ears, begging him to stay awake. How he wished he could fight the darkness; it reminded him of the void past that portal. But he couldn't and he was falling and falling.

 

-o-o-o-

 

The pain was overwhelming. It was like when he had first woken to having something being implanted into his chest, into his sternum. It was fear and darkness and blinding hot fire that burned through his whole being and he tried to fight it off but he was stuck in an unforgiving prison made of metal. _Is it my suit?_ His thoughts were swallowed in the agony once again.

But he heard that familiar voice. That soothing calm that was like ice. And parts of his metal prison slowly being taken apart, giving him room to breath. He sucked in clearer air and his lungs protested and he lost consciousness again.

 

-o-o-o-

 

_It's just a dream. It's just a dream_. Tony repeated to himself in his fever induced unconsciousness. But he knew that it wasn't; the pain that jolted through his subconscious was real and the events that played out before his eyes had happened. _Please don't show me this again. I don't want to see it._

But it replayed and he watched, helpless and in pain, as one of the enemies descended on Agent Barton without the assassin noticing and tore him off of the roof he had been stationed on. He hadn't been able to look away when it happened and he couldn't look away now, even though it was his own mind.

The monster bit into the agent's shoulder, deep and unyielding. Tony saw the long teeth of its lower jaw protruding from the man's chest. And as he tried to fight it off, as he tried to get away, the creature ran him through with it's sword.

_Make. It. Stop._ Tony choked, trying to breath. His eyes flashed open but he couldn't figure out where he was. He convulsed again in pain.

“I'm _helping_ you, Stark, _stop_ fighting.” The man was there. Pale skin and dark hair and brilliant green eyes.

But Tony couldn't breath and the pain was too much and he passed out again.

 

-o-o-o-

 

The first thing that he noticed upon waking up was that he wasn't in agonizing pain. He couldn't muster the strength to open his eyes just yet, so he lay still—could he even move anything if he wanted to?—and tried to collect himself.

He heard humming. That soothing voice, that had been there the whole time he had been too much in pain to put two and two together. So the person who had appeared when he had started to slip had...had what? Saved him?

Tony tried to take in a deep breath and found his throat and lungs were bone dry and he was seized with a powerful bout of coughing. He tasted blood and groaned, rolling over a little bit.

“So you have finally joined the living, Tony Stark. Drink this, I was unable to get you to drink much while you were unconscious.” Tony felt a hand on his forehead, on his neck, on his shoulder. It was cool and soothing, helping him to sit up enough to take a drink from the cup that was gently pressed against his parched lips. He swallowed it gratefully and finally opened his eyes.

Tony let out a startled growl and pushed away from the man helping him up, successfully falling off the bed. “What...the hell...” he panted out as his head spun, fixing his gaze on the dark haired man kneeling beside the bed.

“At least thank me for saving your life, Stark. I do not appreciate being treated like that. Not after all of the work I've done,” Loki said as he stood with unnatural grace, green eyes regarding him coolly.

“Why are you back on Earth?” Tony asked, shocked by the resentment in the God's voice. He had practically destroyed all of New York and he expected Tony to not react strongly to the sight of him? He was insane.

Loki rolled his eyes and turned away from the man. Tony realized the God wasn't wearing his full battle armor. It appeared to be the tunic he wore underneath and his pants and boots. “Saving you, obviously. Really, Stark, I thought you were a genius.”

Tony scowled at the God, gritting his teeth. But he was still too thirsty to argue so he dragged himself back onto the bed with a groan of pain and reached for the cup sitting on the small table beside the bed. He downed it swiftly, and another, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on Loki.

“I'm unable to heal you further at this time though, so do try not to move around too much. I can not believe how you managed to get yourself _so_ injured in such a short amount of time,” Loki stated, glancing at him from where he stood beside the table across the room.

The injured man glared at him but gave a small nod. Now that he was over the initial shock and rush of adrenalin that had come with grasping that _Loki_ was the one who had saved him, he realized that his entire body felt like he had been hit by a truck. Or several. Carefully, Tony lay back down onto the bed, closing his eyes.

“So, you helped me. You expect that to make everything all better?” he asked, keeping his eyes closed. “You destroyed New York. You killed Phil.”

“I've killed quite a few people, Stark. And so have you. And if you don't remember, New York was very recently destroyed,” Loki said. His voice had regained the quality he remembered from when he had first spoken to him, so long ago. When he had flown down to his tower and landed, and he had offered the man a drink, and then the God had thrown him out of the window.

Tony opened his eyes to look at Loki then looked past him to take in where exactly he was. The room they were in was bare, but it looked safe. “Where are we?” he asked. He pushed himself up into a sitting position with a small groan.

“Safe,” Loki replied, sitting down in one of the chairs to look at Tony. “I have made sure of that.”

“That isn't what I meant,” he said, scowling. He ran a hand over his face. “Where are we?”

“You can see once you can easily move without injuring yourself,” the God said calmly. “I do not feel like trying to explain it to you, as I don't know your world as well as you. Now, are you hungry?”

Tony didn't trust him. How could he? But so far he hadn't done him any harm and had actually fixed him up. So he figured the food would be safe enough to eat and nodded. Loki got up and left the room through a door that had been closed up until this point. The slender man didn't close it completely as he left.

Relaxing as the man left, Tony allowed himself time to take in his surroundings. The room had no windows and only one door; the door through which Loki had left. As Tony realized this, he pulled the blanket more tightly around his shoulders. A strong chill traveled down his frame that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. It was a small room. Dark. Not that light would be good at the moment, since his head was still throbbing. Nevertheless, unwanted memories threatened to overwhelm his consciousness and he forced himself to focus on the other aspects of the room.

The bed where Tony was seated was sturdy and made of a dark wood that matched the nightstand, and table and chairs set butting up against the wall on the other side of the room. He closed his hand around the blanket enveloping his body and felt the pads of his fingers catching on the uneven, wool material. In the soft light of the simple lamp residing on the nightstand, he could tell it was a deep green hue. _Figures...of course it's green. It's Loki._ It wasn't a cold or unwelcoming color though and for a moment he buried his face in the cloth, inhaling the soft, natural scent that he was so unaccustomed to and relaxed his shoulders.

He let the blanket fall away from his face, brushing away runaway tufts of wool, and filled the cup once again with water from the pitcher. This time he sipped it slowly, enjoying the way the cool liquid soothed his aching throat.

“How did this all happen?” he said under his breath, running his fingers through his hair once again. The glass he held shook gently and when he looked down, he noted that it wasn't the glass but his hand and set the cup back down on the bedside table.

Tony sat silently, blanket wrapped around his battered form, holding his hands together to stop the trembling, and tried to focus on something else. When the room offered no such distraction, he turned to something he knew would.

“Hope you're still in one piece,” Tony muttered. “Although I'm still alive so I'm betting yes.” He pulled his shirt up to expose the machine keeping him alive. It probably wasn't the smartest idea though as pain shot up his torso and he wrapped his arms around his stomach, doubling over. Something was still broken or aching, or hadn't gotten around to healing fully, and he regretted moving so suddenly.

After the pain subsided to a throbbing ache instead of a strong jolt of agony, he slowly sat up and his hand went to the arc reactor. It glowed comfortingly and he let out a relieved sigh. He covered it with his palm and felt the heat under his skin. It didn't seem damaged. Well, at least there was something good about his situation. He ran his finger around the edge of the circle of metal.

“I'm glad that you did not have a panic attack,” Loki said and Tony looked up.

“What are you talking about? Why are you so concerned with me?” Tony asked, eyes narrowing. He tugged his shirt back down gingerly, not wanting to jostle himself too much. He didn't want to repeat the strong waves of pain that had filled him a few moments before.

“You have been through a lot. You nearly died. I expected a bit of panic at the very least. But maybe it hasn't sunk in completely,” the God of Mischief said and brought over a platter. It held a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. It smelled good, simple and comforting.

Tony let him set it on his lap and picked up the spoon, eyeing the man. “I've nearly died before,” he stated. “Tell me what happened. Why are we here? Why are _you_ here? Where are the others?”

Loki let out a small sigh, which sounded strange coming from the lips of a man who had the nickname of 'Silvertongue'. He pulled one of the chairs over but kept his distance. So Tony wasn't the only one not trusting the other.

“Agents Barton and Romanov are dead. The beast has been locked away and there is no way of getting him out and your precious Captain is on ice, I believe,” Loki said, sharp eyes not leaving the human as he started to eat the food slowly. _Dead?_ He had known Clint to be dead. He had seen him getting run through with a damn sword. But he guessed a part of him was hoping that _somehow_ the agent would have survived.

And Natasha was dead as well? Tony was having trouble processing the fact that the fiery red-head had been beaten. That she was dead as well. Had she been killed in a manner similar to Clint? Did he even want to ask? He was sure the God would explain in as much detail as possible if questioned.

He decided that he  _didn't_ want to ask, at least not just yet. He wanted to keep his food down, and even though he wasn't particularly squeamish, he didn't think he could handle it right now.

Tony swallowed what he had in his mouth in a slow, deliberate motion. “What about Thor?”

“My dear brother is still in Asgard. He wished to come and help, but he couldn't.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, Stark, he was unable to get to Midgard. The attack on your world has effected other worlds, even if not directly. For the time being, he is stuck in Asgard. You are a typical human, Stark. Thinking that your world is the only one to be effected,” Loki said. Tony noticed that the already pale man looked even paler; worn; _tired_. “The monsters that attacked call themselves the Helatite.”

“Helatite?”

Loki shook his head a little, as if to say he didn't have a better explanation. “It's just a name, Stark.”

Tony was quiet. The people he had come to care about—that in itself was a bit overwhelming—were either dead or as good as. The city of New York was destroyed. And he had been saved by the man who had tried to kill him. Could this situation get any worse? Tony had to stop himself from thinking on that too hard because he was sure that yes, it could get worse. Granted, Tony didn't have as big a grudge against Loki as others, although he couldn't forgive him about Phil.

“I doubt you're surprised that I'm having trouble trusting you,” he said. “On account of you throwing me through a window and all.”

Loki regarded him carefully, eyes not leaving the man's face.“Oh, do not get the wrong idea, the feeling is mutual,” he replied with a cool smile. “So let us agree on our conjunct distrust and move along to fixing things.”

“How exactly will we fix things? Bringing people back from the dead is impossible.”

“That is _not_ what I had in mind, Stark,” Loki said icily. “ And I did not mean fix this _immediately._ We have plenty of time to discuss how the two of us will, hm, hopefully fix your sad little world. And you aren't completely healed and won't be of any use to me or anyone else in your current state.”

“Am I just a tool for you? A prisoner?”

Loki's eyes widened slightly. “No, of course not. I do not take _prisoners._ ” The way he said 'prisoners' made a strong shudder of unease run down his spine and for a moment he regretted putting it so bluntly.“You may leave at any point of time, but believe me when I say that you wouldn't last too long in the state you are in, without your suit. And if you don't want to help me set things _right_ , then I guess I can not force you. Now, _rest_.” And with that, Loki left the room, silent and cold, closing the door behind him.

The genius stared at the door for a long time, mind racing. _Prisoners. Fixing what happened._ What did he mean when he said Tony wouldn't last too long? Sure he was injured, but wouldn't he be fine once he was completely patched up?

Tony set the tray down beside the bed and slowly lied down. This was too much to take in. His head was reeling and he slowly curled in the blankets, holding it in his hands. Images of the cave; of the void; of being alone flooded back into him and he gripped his head tighter before he slowly relaxed. He wasn't alone. Even though Loki was an enemy, he had come, he had saved him, he had stayed beside him as Tony had been writhing in pain.

He was too tired to hold out and lost consciousness once more. Thankfully, all that came to him was lovely darkness. A calming silence that went through his entire body and let him rest without dreams, without fear.

 

-o-o-o-

 

Light was spilling through the crack under the door when Tony awoke. He pushed himself up and was glad to find that he could stretch—if he was careful—without his body protesting too much. He took his time in stretching out his sore and injured muscles—letting out a few pained gasps at the stretching of more delicate, abused parts of his body—before trying to stand. He stood still, calves pressed against the accommodating softness of the mattress, and waited until his eyes cleared and he was able to see once more. Then he stepped to the door.

It didn't resist, like he had been expecting—he couldn't quite believe that he wasn't a prisoner—and he proceeded into the room.

The light flooding it blinded him momentarily and he stood beside the door, blinking as his head swam and his eyes watered. It reminded him of the many hangovers he had, except twenty times worse. He pressed a palm against one eye, keeping the other closed, until he chanced another look. It made his eyes water and his head pound, but he tried to ignore it.

“How are you feeling?”

Tony looked across the room to where most of the opposing wall was made of windows. It was very impressive and reminded him of his place in Malibu. Loki was standing in front of the windows, back to the man, hands clasped behind his back in a relaxed manner.

He didn't turn around just yet, and as Tony watched him, the man thought he truly did look Godly. The light surrounding Loki's form made the edges of his body blur and glow, and in the light, he could tell that Loki's black hair was more like the back of a raven than anything else; the minute shifts of blue and green and purple were beautiful. And then he wondered why he had just thought that.

“Amazing. Truly,” Tony said, rubbing the back of his neck, his shoulder, then let his hand fall to his side. It hurt quite a lot to stretch in such a way. Loki finally turned partially to look at him and Tony swore he smiled, but it was gone so swiftly that he wondered if it was a trick of the light or his suffering head.

“I see,” Loki said. “Are you hungry?”

Tony gave a small nod, which made his head spin and so he stopped quickly.

“Well then, Stark, sit down,” the God of Mischief said and motioned to the table off to one side. It was made of good, solid wood. Dark. Smooth. Sturdy. It matched the furniture in his room, right down to the green upholstery on the chairs. Tony sat down in one of them gratefully and watched the God move around.

It didn't take long before a plate of basic but healthy and filling food was set in front of Tony and he slowly started to eat, glad for the hearty, simple meal. It also gave him something to focus on. Instead of the blatant fact that he was eating a meal prepared by a past enemy; instead of the fact that he was sitting across the table from said man.

“Where are we?” he asked again, still eating. He looked over at the windows, but all he saw was a horizon, far out, and blue and white. Two different shades. Lighter blue, smears of white, at the top—the sky. Darker blue, nearly green—the ocean.

“Safe,” Loki replied. Same answer as before. Safe did not answer where they were and caused Tony to scowl across the table at his enemy. He wanted to know where Loki considered 'safe', after an attack such as that.

“Well, then. Why did you help me? What the hell happened?”

Loki looked over at him, resting his elbows on the table, fingers tangling together elegantly. “You are the only one who can fix it,” he told Tony. “Even I can not stop it from happening, because I, ah, lack knowledge.”

“Lack knowledge? Am I supposed to believe that?” Tony knew that Loki was more than smart. He might be insane or unstable, but he still had a brilliant mind. What Tony wouldn’t do to learn some of the things that Loki knew...

“It requires a specific skill set, which I, sadly, do not have,” Loki said. “As quick a learner as I am, I still do not understand machines, computers, and electronics to the extent that you do.”

Tony was shocked. A God had just admitted that Tony knew more. It shot directly to his ego, which wasn't needed, but it happened anyway. He was surprised his ego could still be fed with his body and the city, if not the world, being in the state they were in. “Well. I can see your problem then,” he said then frowned a little bit. “Why do you need that?”

“The Helatite is an incredibly advanced race. Their technology exceeds most Midgardian machinery, only the basics of which I understand. But I believe you would have a better chance.”

“What would the use be anyway? There's no one left,” Tony said.

Loki fixed him with his bright green gaze and Tony felt like those eyes could seduce anyone with the aid of nothing else, if the God tried hard enough. As it was, they were hard and shining and unblinking, staring at the genius with what seemed to be growing impatience and Tony couldn't seem to drag his gaze away.

“I would not have saved you, ungrateful human, if there was nothing you could do,” Loki replied and his voice cut through the air, making Tony fall silent for a moment. Loki made him feel like a child, being told off for doing something he had been told not to do. The pale man regarded him coolly over his knuckles, eyes narrowed. Then he lowered his hands and his lips curled into a derisive smile. “Are you done with your self-pity? Or shall I leave you alone to wallow, without explaining how—you—can—fix—this.” The last five words were enunciated clearly, definitely, and Tony gritted his teeth a little.

The God was mocking him. He had just lost all of his friends, his city, his _life_ , and the man—nay, God—was mocking that. He was sitting before him, calm, smiling, and telling him to calm down and listen. And really, how the hell could Loki fix all this? The city, the whole world, was in a state of chaos. He hadn't seen the state of things yet, but from what he remembered of before Loki had made his entrance, it was apocalyptic. He doubted even Loki had the power to bring back the dead.

“I doubt that _you_ have the power to bring back the dead, so why the hell do you think I could do something about this?” Tony asked, jaw tense. Did this man not have the ability to pity? To give sympathy?

“No, I do not have the power to bring back the dead, nor would I want to if I did. The dead are supposed to remain dead,” Loki said. “But I _do_ have a way to try and set this right.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and his ribs protested. He set his hand down on the table with a small wince. “Okay. What is it?”

Loki didn't miss the wince but said nothing about it. “I have the power to...send you back, as it were, in time to stop this whole thing from happening.”

Tony's jaw dropped. Whatever he was expecting—and he really didn't know what exactly he had been expecting—this wasn't it. “You're trying to tell me you have the ability to travel through time?”

“Humans have such a simple view of time,” Loki hissed out, almost speaking to himself. “I can not choose any point in time to just pop back and forth. I am not a _time traveler,_ my dear Anthony. I am merely bending, or folding, time...so to speak.”

“Are you saying that the whole _A Wrinkle In Time_ concept is actually correct?” Tony asked him. He had wanted to rebuke Loki on using his full name, but now didn't seem the time.

At this, Loki could not hide the amusement that had quickly overcome the anger on his pale features. “Yes, Ms. L'Engle was not actually that far off with her concepts. You would be surprised how many of your well-known authors, your poets, your artists, have insight into the things that many of you overlook, labeling as _fantasy_.” He gave Tony a minute or so to let this concept to sink in and then continued.

“This process, however, is extremely complicated, however easy it seemed in the writing you were referring to, and takes an enormous amount of energy, on my part. I won't be able to accompany you back. And you will only have one more chance. Time and Space does not like to be toyed with and she will not let me play her more than once.”

“So let me get this right. To—to clarify,” Tony said. Loki inclined his head, to show he was paying attention. “You're going to send me back in time, to before all of this happened, and I have to _stop_ it from happening?”

“That is correct. Very good, Anthony, I knew there was a reason I chose you for this,” Loki said, tone condescending. Tony glowered at him.

“But does that mean that during the whole fight, there was an opening? To stop it all?”

“Yes. But you did not know. And by the time I reached you, it was too late.” At this, the God shifted, as if uneasy. As if guilty.

“What was holding you up?” Tony asked coldly. “If you knew this, and knew how to stop it all, then couldn't you have warned us before? Given us time to prepare?”

“No, I could not. I was—ah—preoccupied, you could say.”

“With what?” Tony asked, still furious with the man before him. But along with the anger was a burning curiosity. His food sat forgotten before him, growing cold as the two men spoke. But as Loki was quiet, a feeling of unease fell over him and he groped blindly for the glass of water beside his plate and took a few quick sips to cool his dry throat.

“I...was with the Helatite.”

Tony nearly choked on his last sip of water. “You—what?”

Loki took a slow breath, and suddenly he looked shaken, nervous. “Against my will, if that makes you feel any better.”

“It does a little, yes,” Tony said as he set the glass down gently.

Loki's eyes narrowed a little.

“So. Wait. You were with them. In their ship, I guess, through that fucking rip in the sky, and you know how to stop it all from happening? You had to free yourself, so that's why you didn't get to Earth in time,” Tony said. “But that would mean that you were...with them before they attacked.”

Loki looked at his hands and Tony noticed his knuckles were white with how tight he was gripping them. “Yes. I was.”

“And what does that mean?”

 “It means that I helped them get here in the first place.”


	2. A Salty Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is having some trouble processing what Loki is telling him...It's hard to believe a God who had once before tried to conquer New York that he hadn't meant it to go this bad, that he had helped, but he felt horrible. And the Inventor just wished he knew where he was and how long it would take until he was healed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I realize it has been a ridiculously long time since I started this story (the first of September, I believe, is when I first posted this). I know I've just started it, so I doubt many people are sitting and waiting, but if you are, I apologize! I have been wanting to work on this for so long, but school got in the way, making me ridiculously busy... but I have chapter two here for you! I want my chapters to be longer than this, but I didn't quite know where else to bring this chapter...OTZ So I apologize, since it's really not that long at all. I'm sorry! D: 
> 
> Oh, and a special thanks to Kytt, who read through this and had been bugging me to write this (just as I was bugging her to write hers).

            The ample bruise on the back of Tony's head caused him to roll onto his side, hand covering the large, swollen area. Gingerly, he added pressure to see just how badly bruised he was and let out a string of curses as the sensitive flesh throbbed with his touch. What was it with people and poking their obvious injuries? He had known it would hurt. With tremendous effort, he forced himself into a sitting position and found himself surrounded by the green, woolen blankets that populated the bed Loki had given him.

            He frowned, closing his eyes against the sharp pain in the back of his head and tried to remember how exactly he had gotten here. It was rather difficult to focus though, as the pain in his head caused his eyes to water. He gripped the coarse blanket, trying to steady himself and will away the pain.

            The last thing he remembered was speaking to Loki. About the Helatite. But then why exactly was he back in his living quarters with a bruise the size of a baseball on the back of his head? How had that happened? He lied down, deciding that sitting up was much too much effort and only caused his head to hurt more, and closed his eyes.

            He started with the beginning of the conversation. When he had first settled down into one of those straight-backed chairs. The talk about time travel—Tony wasn't sure he even believed the God—and how Tony could help stop all of this from happening. And then...and then?

            _“It means that I helped them get here in the first place.”_ Loki's voice echoed in his ears and he remembered how he had gotten that bruise.

            _“You helped them?” Tony growled, forcing himself back, away from the table and to his feet with enough force to knock the chair over. It hit the floor with a loud clatter and one of the legs hit the back of his, but he ignored it. He had been angry earlier, but it had been a dull, throbbing sort of anger. But this...well, this was definitely not dull._

_“Believe me when I say I regret the decision,” Loki replied, getting up slowly, hands pressed against the table as if to steady himself. His green eyes never left the man before him._

_Tony clenched his fists. “You helped them destroy New York, just like before, and then you come begging me to help you? How does that make sense in that crazy mind of yours?” He found himself shouting, and it rang in his ears. His head gave a painful throb, and his ribs protested, reminding him that he was still hurt._

_Loki narrowed his eyes. “You are in no position to call me crazy, Stark,” he hissed out, stepping in front of the human, raising himself to his full height. Tony was forced to look up and he did not like it._

_“Well, it seems pretty insane,” Tony spat back, panting._

_“And I realize my mistake,” Loki snapped, eyes filled with anger and something else. What was that? Pain? “And I am going to try and fix it!”_

_Tony pushed Loki back a step, sucking in a pained gasp. “What if I don't want to help the mad man who put the whole world in this mess?” he replied. He stepped back a little. Why was everything getting dark? “What if I say you're on your own?” Loki was no longer in focus in front of him, and he saw, just for a moment, the flash of panic and concern in Loki's eyes before everything was black and he was falling._

            Tony touched the back of his head again. He had hit his head. That's what had happened. He opened his eyes slowly and let his gaze travel across the small, dark room. Seeing nothing out of place, he strained his ears, concentrating on any sounds outside of the room.

            But either the door and walls were too thick, or the room outside of his was completely empty because he heard nothing but the ringing of his own head. He sat up and seized the blankets.

            Loki had helped them. Why had he done that? Because he was insane, of course. Same reason as to why he had tried to take over New York the first time. Power. Greed. The need to rule. Had he gotten away from whatever Asgardian punishment and run to the closest Earth enemy, intent on trying again?

            Tony gripped his head with one hand, gritting his teeth. That didn't make any sense. When they had beaten him after closing the portal to the Chitauri world, he seemed so docile, regretful even. And if that was true, then he couldn't really see the God—no matter how unstable he was—doing something so drastic as the most recent attack.

            Contradictions chased their way around Tony's head. The God had helped him, when he was dying. But he had also helped the enemy. He said he would try and fix it. But how could Tony trust him? He said he had a way to fix things. Was he supposed to believe Loki's nonsense about time travel?

            In a wave of outrage and confusion, the inventor grabbed the lamp on the nightstand and threw it with as much force as he could muster across the room. It hit one of the chairs beside the table and shattered, bits of ceramic flying everywhere; the momentum from the throw caused Tony to lose balance and end up on the floor beside the bed.

            The whimper that escaped his lips was involuntary and he curled in on himself on the wooden floor, trying to breath normally through the excruciating pain coursing through his frame. The heavy gasps only caused his chest and lungs to burn and tighten. Panic flooded through his already pain consumed mind and he grabbed at the floor until his fingers found the blanket.

            All the while, silence rang in his ears.

            The room seemed to close in as he gagged on his breath, trying to force oxygen into his aching lungs. He dragged the blanket off the bed in his hysteria and curled, hiding from the room; trying to hide from the panic; from the pain. He let out a choking exhalation and closed his eyes even tighter.

           He couldn't. He was alone in the silence of the constricting room and the only sounds were his own sickening, hoarse breaths.

            And Loki didn't come

            Even though the lamp had made an incredibly loud crash; even though Tony had fallen from the bed; even though pulling the blanket from the bed had caused the glass still on the bed-side table to come falling to the ground, shattering just as the lamp had, Loki had not come.

            Why had he not come? The God had been there during his fever induced nightmares; the agony from right after the battle. Tony wasn't conscious enough to ask himself why he wanted his enemy there by his side.

            And as he lost the battle to regain himself, all he wished was for the man to be beside him. But he wasn't. And so he succumbed to the pain and the terror and fainted.

 

-o-o-o-

 

            The engineer was still on the floor when he finally regained consciousness. The blanket was tangled around his body after all of his terrified thrashing and it took him a few minutes to untangle himself and push the bedspread to the floor as he sat up against the bed. He held his head in his hands until the dizziness passed and looked up.

            The glass from the shattered cup was gone, as was all pieces of the lamp. Tony could see scratches and chips on the chair from the impact. On the bedside table sat a tray with a small loaf of bread, a bowl of broth, and a glass of water. The door was open just a crack, letting in gentle, pale light from the other room.

            From the soft light coming in through the long vertical slot between the partially open door and it's frame, Tony picked up the tray from the bedside table and set it on his lap. The broth was still warm—so Loki had just come in? After trying to eat a piece of bread and nearly choking on the rough, chewy food, he decided that the broth would probably be a better choice for the moment.

            As he ate, he ran a hand through his hair, wincing at the movement. He must have pulled something—he remembered Loki saying something about still needing to heal—because he hurt a lot more than the day before. He let out an exasperated sigh.

            It had been a while since he had had such a bad attack.

            He tried to decipher shapes in the other room through the crack in the door as he soaked a bit of bread in the broth and ate it. The flickering of a shadow told Tony that Loki was moving around, because who else would be walking around in the room?

            “I'm fine,” Tony said to himself out loud, as if to try and convince himself that the attack from earlier had not happened; that he had just fallen during the fight and it was all a nightmare. He knew it wasn't true...but he could pretend, couldn't he?

            He set the tray on the floor beside him and slowly pushed himself to his feet. The dim room spun dangerously and for a moment he felt like the walls were closing in on him. But as the dizziness passed, he realized they weren't, that he was standing beside the bed, and the walls were unmoving. Once he had reassured himself that he was no longer going to pass out, he left the bedroom.

            The room was empty when he entered it, although the light was still on. It was coming from a fixture in the center of the ceiling, right above that dark table and he could see the glare of the light on the smooth surface. The chair that he had knocked over in his anger was righted and pushed in, like it's other three companions.

             He stood quietly for a long moment, trying to hear the sounds that would indicate where the God had run off to, but only silence met his ears, so he gave up and decided to explore the house.

            Tony figured Loki had found the house and possibly altered it, since he doubted there was still electricity after the attack. And the interior had a worn, lived-in feel that couldn't be created over the span of a couple days or even a couple weeks. He got the same feeling in the small, old-fashioned kitchen that was across the room. But in the kitchen, there were visible signs of wear-and-tear, and indicators of just how old this house probably was were visible in the way the inelegant refrigerator hummed in the corner; the stains on the gas stove; the worn patches in the paint of the cabinets.

            He left the kitchen after another moment of looking around and followed the wall around the main room. A door sat closed, facing the wall of windows, and when Tony tried to open it, he found it locked. But judging how it was positioned, he figured it was just a closet. He left the locked door and continued around the table, to the wall of windows facing the sea.

            It was getting late. The sun was getting closer to the horizon. _How long was I out?_ Tony thought as he rested a hand on the cool glass. Sunlight danced across the gentle waves, and the trees in his peripheral swayed slowly with a soft breeze. It was peaceful.

            He took a deep, slow breath and kept his eyes out on the ocean. His chest protested as he breathed and he wondered how long it would take him to heal.

            Dropping his hand, he turned to finish exploring the small house.

            The inventors brown eyes widened as he saw the hallway that extended next to his room and the wall of windows (the windows stopped just before the long stretch of empty space). The space was dim, the light mounted on the wall of the hallway unlit and cold. Frowning, he walked down the slender space, glancing at the worn wallpaper.

            The hallway continued to the left, through a door that was closed. Wondering if it was yet another closet, or maybe the entrance to the small house, he turned the brass knob. It opened, making way to a thin staircase that led down and turned out of sight. But the slight glow of light coming from below compelled Tony to move forward and down the stairs.

            The turns were tight in the hallway, and it led down farther than he had initially expected - basements weren't generally this deep. But eventually, and it had indeed taken a good amount of time at the pace Tony was walking, he found himself standing in the basement.

            His eyes widened and he ran to one of the long tables sitting in the space, where bits and pieces of his Iron Man suit lay silently, reflecting some of the light from the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He ran his fingers over the breastplate, feeling the deep dent, then picked up his helmet. It was in several pieces and a number of cracks decorated the had-been smooth surface. Tony set it back down on the table and assessed the remnants of his suit.

            Running his fingers through his dirty hair, he let out a sigh, realizing it could have been much worse. He had actually been expecting worse, with how bad he had been injured and how bad the battle had gone. But it seemed that all the parts of his suit were there, or most of them at least.

            Loki had been very careful while getting him out of the suit. It wasn't ripped apart, like he had thought, as the suit was a complicated piece of machinery and the God had admitted himself that he was not good with complex computers and machinery. He had done surprisingly well, actually.

            The amount of blood caked on the inner segments of the suit made Tony pale. That was all his blood. He was amazed he had survived through that. He ran his hand across the breastplate once more, clearing the center of the dried blood. "JARVIS," he murmured. Did the suit work well enough that JARVIS could still function? Probably not.

            "It was the best I could do, what with you unconscious." Loki's voice startled the engineer, causing him to jump. He turned around to face the God, hand still on his suit.

            "...You did pretty well," Tony said. "Better than your brother or Cap would have done, that's for sure."

            Loki gave a soft chuckle. "That isn't saying much, Anthony. My brother isn't the brightest, I'm sure you know this."

            "Brighter than you give him credit for, I think. But not quite as precise and delicate as you are. You got me out of my suit without completely destroying it," Tony said, turning back to the table. A strong pang of pain ran through him, and it wasn't related to the physical state he was in. His suit, a part of him, was in pieces on the table before him.

            "I try," Loki said, walking closer, to lean against one of the other tables.

            Tony lifted his chocolate gaze to the God, who was lounging lazily against the table, arms crossed in a relaxed manner.

            "How's your head?"

            "Painful," Tony replied.

            "I imagine so," Loki said. "It was quite a fall."

            Tony nodded slowly, so as to not bother his head too much. He was still furious with the God who had helped the aliens attack the world, but there was no sense in giving him the cold shoulder. Tony was more mature than that. And Loki being the only person he was able to talk to also came into play. If he had JARVIS, he might have ignored Loki, but he was lacking even his AI, so it couldn't be helped. "Will you tell me where we are?" he asked, voice just a little bit annoyed.

            Loki's eyebrow rose. "We aren't close to your precious New York," he replied.

            Tony scowled. "Tell me where the hell we are," he demanded. "It looks like we're still on the East Coast. Are we _close_ to New York?"

            "Far enough away that we're safe. Or as safe as we can be, with everything happening," Loki said and turned away, heading back to the tight staircase. Tony followed after another moment, up out of the basement. "But yes, we are still on the East Coast."

            Tony nodded a little, watching as Loki walked to the locked door beside the kitchen and touched the doorknob. There was a soft click and he opened it. It did not lead into a closet, like Tony had initially thought, but to another set of stairs, this time leading up.

            Loki stepped back, holding the door open and Tony took that as an invitation and walked through the doorway and up the stairs. He opened the door that the staircase ended in and found himself on the roof. He took several steps forward so that Loki could follow him out, inhaling the salty air. A hint of smoke was buried under the overpowering smell of the ocean and made Tony look away from the sea, to the land.

            Smog sat in a hazy layer as far as he could see. He couldn't tell if it was from fresh fires or not, but it looked dreadful.

            "Your city is that way," Loki said, pointing north.

            "Is the city still on fire?" Tony realized he didn't know how long it had been. He didn't know how long he had been in his fevered unconsciousness. How much time had passed?

            "Parts of it, yes," Loki said. "The Helatite enjoy fire."

            "Is anyone else alive?" Tony asked.

            "Of course," Loki said. "In pockets of resistance and as prisoners. You humans are surprisingly resilient, when it comes to survival."

            "Yeah, well, a lot of people have been preparing for the zombie apocalypse, so it doesn't surprise me that they could deal with aliens..." Tony muttered to himself, scratching the back of his head. He winced as he bumped the bruise he had forgotten about in light of the smog filling the sky.

            "What?" Loki asked, and the look of confusion on the God's face made him let out a laugh. It felt good to laugh.

            "Nothing," Tony said, clearing his throat. Loki shook his head and looked out across the forest that surrounded them on all sides that didn't face the ocean.

            "They will have taken over most of the world by now," the God said. He turned to look at the inventor. He crossed his arms across his chest as the gentle, salty air tugged at them both. "It's going to take some time before I can formulate that spell, to send you back. In the meantime, I believe it would be a good idea to have your suit in working condition, in case anything happens..."

            Tony stared at him. "If you don't remember, which I don't know how you wouldn't because you got me out of it, my suit is trashed," he said. "And I don't have any way of fixing it."

            "We can get tools and supplies," Loki said.

            "And how do you propose we do that?"

            "Go back to your tower, of course," Loki said.

            Tony's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. What Loki had just suggested. "Go back...to the tower? Are you insane?"

            Loki's expression turned dark. "This is the second time you have called me insane and I would like it if you stopped. I am not how I was when I had the Tesseract." He turned and walked back to the door, disappearing down the stairs.

            The genius stood silently on the roof, letting his eyes wander. He could see nothing out at sea. And much of his view of the land was filled with green forest. The smog filling the horizon. Go back to his tower? Was it even possible? He took a slow, deep breath, filling his lungs with the salty air and exhaled it just as slowly, then followed Loki back down into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sweeties, let's just hope that I won't take that long for the next chapter....

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts and comments are always appreciated! Also, the Helatite race is my own creation (taken from an old story I had started to write), and isn't actually connected to any Marvel story.


End file.
